


Time

by clevelandy



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Aging, Baz and simon are 40, Drabble and a Half, Implied/Referenced Sex, M/M, They're just talking, and you're almost good at it, baz is worried that he'll become dracula, baz loves being old, because hopefully by now these two fuckers will be able to talk abt their feelings, fluff?, for the past 20 years, idk this was fun to write, set way in the future, simon is worried that baz will think hes ugly when hes old, this is what it sounds like when u have been working on communication, very little mention of magic but still set in the universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:13:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21932020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clevelandy/pseuds/clevelandy
Summary: Simon and Baz have been together for a long time. But it will never be enough.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 16
Kudos: 121





	Time

Being middle-aged is always depicted as such a terrible thing. Mid-aged men buy expensive cars, cheat on their wives or kill people. They're on their last hurrah before arthritis takes them down. It always sounded so awful, like something I'd never like to endure. What a fool I was. 

40, surprisingly, is treating me well. In a lot of ways, being at this stage of life feels like we're the algae that colonizes rock after a volcanic eruption. I'm excited to see which plants will grow from such densely fertilized soil and I'm excited to see what adventures my husband and I will face. I'm excited to pin him down in our bed after I finish this chapter.

He will complain that I've topped the last three times. I'll offer him the reins but he'll pretend he's doing me a favor. There's beauty in this familiarity, but every time is different. Every moment with him is wrought with novelty.

Before that happens though, we always sit in the living room. Simon has a different show to watch with each weekday, and I often have to cool down after hunting. Simon's legs are on my lap as he stares at the screen. I use them as a table for my book. This is how we are meant to be. 

"Hey, Baz?" This is different. This is when we sit in silence. Though, I did say I was ready for adventure. 

I jerk my head up from the book, probably too eagerly. Early in our relationship, I learned that that tone of voice meant he was planning on sharing feelings with me, as they usually were accompanied by hours and hours of reflection and self coaxing (so he told me). So, whenever he used the voice I was hell-bent on hearing whatever he had to say. However, later in our relationship, that tone of voice was often used to tell me things which he didn't like but didn't want to hurt my feelings about (He hates the movies I pick, etc.). Regardless, old habits die hard.

To contrast my sudden attention, I hum instead of responding, letting him know I was listening but trying not to pressure him. The games we play never seem to get old. 

"I was just thinking..." He paused for a little while, playing with the hem of his shirt. At the moment I wish he were closer to me. "And, you don't have to give me an answer right now. But..."

"Come on Snow, just ask." I can only be so patient. 

"It's not," he looked up, blowing air out of his pursed lips so the curls hanging over his forehead flew up briefly, "It's not just a question. It's a discussion... that we should have." I swear I could see the gears turning inside his head. I would've pushed again, but he seemed like he needed time. "I'm getting old."

All that time and those were the words he chose? Poeticism aside, my stomach dropped. 

I should've seen this coming. 

I should've seen it coming months, maybe years ago. It should've dawned on me when Simon blew out the candles on his 40th birthday cake (which, to be fair, could very well have been incorrect. His 'birthday' is just the day he was found, so he might even be 41 by now. Hell will freeze over before I bring that up to him). I should've started to prepare for this conversation when Simon called me into the bathroom a month ago and asked me to inspect the back of his head for thinning. I told him there was none, and when he gave me an incredulous look I had tugged on a handful of his bronze curls to prove it, prompting him to slap wildly at my hands. The question didn't come then because when he turned around to scold me I slid my other hand into his mussed curls and tilted his head back for easier access to his lips. Kissing ensued. 

I probably should've seen this conversation coming from the day Simon Snow agreed to help me find my mother's murderer. From that very moment, I should have known that I would fall in love with Simon Snow (even further in love than what I already was as an angsty teenager) and that we would spend the rest of our lives together. Because, had that thought occurred to me then, I would've seen the fatal flaw with that plan: the rest of my life would be much, much longer than the rest of his. 

Allow me to give myself more credit: these thoughts had occurred to me, I just tried to push them away. I knew from the day we met that Simon Snow would be it for me, whether that meant I never found love again or if he was the one I ended up with. But when thoughts of this... decision came up I pushed them down. Like any spouse, I worry that there will be a day when Simon doesn’t make it home because of a terrible accident, the only difference is that I will be alone for eternity. Most widowers await the day when death will reunite them with their love. Unfortunately for me, the pearly gates he’ll be behind will be locked. 

Suffice to say, Simon Snow's inevitable demise has always been the stuff of my nightmares. This was true when it was at the hands of the Humdrum when we were kids, at the hands of me in moments when the thirst seemed inescapable and at the hands of time now that we've settled down. 

So, yes. I've thought about it. But that doesn’t mean I had a prepared response for the conversation.

"We're the same age, Snow. Are you calling me old?"

"You know what I mean, Baz."

I did. I folded down the corner of my book and closed it, placing it on the table in front of us, adjusting slightly to look at him straight on. He wasn't wrong: he was _older_ than when I had met him, but then again so was I. We had both reached our full height (Snow still being shorter than me), but while I only had the slightest hint of smile-lines, Simon had crows feet at the corners of his eyes. It wasn't unattractive, not by any means, but I had seen him looking at them in the mirror, tapping his fingertips against them as if he had a spell to erase them. He didn't, but I had a kiss for them whenever he let me. 

I surveyed his face for a few moments, trying to gather my thoughts. He was playing with his hair but not tugging. This was not out of the ordinary. I took a deep breath, trying to settle my own emotions so I could focus on him. My mouth was open for a few moments before the sound actually came out of it.

"What are you feeling, Simon?" That was a difficult question for him, I know. But I wouldn't be the one to suggest...

"Afraid, Baz." He answered much faster than I thought he would. That would not do. I shifted forward, letting his legs slide off my lap to instead pull him onto it. I needed to feel his body against mine, I needed him to know I was there. More than anything else I needed him.

It seemed to help, as he settled onto my lap immediately, straddling my thighs and wrapping his arms around my neck. He placed his forehead against mine but closed his eyes. His eyebrows were scrunched together.

"I'm afraid..” he continued, “because I'm beginning to look older than you. And I know that it isn't an issue, or it shouldn't be one. And I know that it's only just starting. But one day I'll... I'll be..."

Suddenly he was laughing, tilting his head back and looking up at the ceiling. It wasn't mirthless, so I pulled him closer until his chest was flush against mine, taking relish in the vibration of it. 

"I just have this image of you pushing me around in a wheelchair. And I'll be bald and gross. And we'll be walking around the street and people will say 'oh, it's so nice that that fit young man takes his father everywhere.'" He was still smiling, but when he tilted his head back down there was a downturn to the corners of his eyes. I wanted to kiss them, kiss him until this conversation went away. Until he realized that none of it mattered (and let me worry about it on my own). "But, I also have this image of being alone in my wheelchair. And maybe you come to visit here and there. But, sometime between 40 and 80, you'll realize that you can have better. You can have someone who looks better, someone who... ages like you."

To say that this approach to the topic surprised me was an understatement. In a way, we were both afraid of the same thing. Yet his concerns seemed so much less extreme than mine. Maybe that isn't fair and maybe it's selfish to think that way, but his fears were ridiculous. So I told him as much. 

"That's ridiculous, Snow. The first situation is much more likely. Except, there will be much less question about whether you are my father because I will probably be sitting in the wheelchair with you, snogging you until your oxygen tank runs out." 

"Seriously, Baz-"

"Seriously, Simon." I frowned, sighing and tilting my head back briefly. I squeezed my eyes shut. Simon was being vulnerable, and he deserved my vulnerability in response. I leveled him in my eyesight and began to rub my hands up and down his sides. "When we met... I was immediately attracted to you. I've told you this. To your hair, your golden skin, your ridiculous moles... I wanted it all. And when you got a little bit older I wanted your hands, your broad chest, your smell. You still have all of that, Simon. You aren't losing it. And even if you do, I find new things attractive about you every day. You don't have to be worried about me not finding you fit when you're in a wheelchair, because knowing me I'll probably have the hots for wheels, or whatever. It doesn't matter. What matters is that it will be you, and I love you. And I'm not going to stop loving you."

"But-"

"I'm not finished, Snow." I wasn't going to let him argue in the middle of my romantic tirade. "I don't see you aging as fast as you do, because I'm not looking for flaws in you. I love you. I will still love you when I have to change your diaper."

He scrunched up his nose, snuffing out a soft laugh as he shook his head. That seemed to calm him. But there was more to say. 

"But, I do understand what you're going through," I continue cautiously, struggling a little bit to maintain eye contact, "My image, though, revolves more around a grumpy, albeit still ridiculously gorgeous, vampire, alone at the top of a tower. And... he hates the world because the love of his life was taken away from him. I'm not afraid of you looking older than me. But I am afraid of..."

He nods. "You're afraid you won't be able to recruit me into your army of the undead before I'm actually dead."

My own laugh surprised me, and it brought a warmth to his eyes that I needed. This conversation was always going to be difficult, but I'm glad it was with him.

"Yes, I suppose that is what I'm afraid of. But, let me make it clear, I don't... want you to have this." I was spiraling a little. How could I explain to him that while facing eternity alone terrified me, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I took away his chance at finding peace? How could I explain that a small part of me had been waiting to drain his blood from the moment I met him? Delicate conversations aren’t easy to have when you don’t even know what you want. 

"You don't want me to have all your cool vampire powers?"

"I don't want to burden you with this disease, Simon."

That shut him up for a moment, but he was nodding. His eyes were somewhere at the base of my neck, maybe looking for bite marks. If anything he'd probably find his own, as he had recently become delighted to find that he could bruise me if he gave me what he called "love bites" immediately after I came home from hunting. I wondered if he was thinking about that: the hunting. Or if he was still thinking about the fact that I could run a little faster than him. 

He lifted my hand after a little while and began brushing his fingertips against the scar in the palm of my hand. "Any burden you're carrying is one that I'm willing to carry with you."

"Simon... Are you sure?" No, no no. That’s not the right response. The pressure on your chest shouldn’t be lifting. “I mean, no, Simon. That’s not-“ 

"No, I'm not sure. And I'm not offering up my neck at the moment. This is something we'll have to... think about and talk about and... but I'm not completely averse to the idea."

I nodded, unsure what to say at that point. There have been few times in our relationship where Simon has known what to say while I didn’t. This was one of them. What I did know was that my chest started to feel warm as Simon began to lightly rub his palm over it.   
  
Despite my lack of preparation, I suppose this was the best possible outcome for the conversation. Both Simon and I spoke about our feelings, and while we didn’t come to an immediate solution, we were further along than where we started. Part of me was so incredibly proud of us. 

"Besides,” he said, voice muffled as he leaned his head on my shoulder and spoke to my neck, “I know you've always wanted to taste my blood." A sigh left my lips as the last of the tension left our conversation, noted by the way Simon pressed his lips against the side of my neck.   
  
I rolled my eyes, then lifted my hand to the back of his neck. He looked up at me, a soft smile on his face. 

"True or not, right now I'd like to taste something else,” I whispered, leaning into him. In true Snow fashion, he surged forward, kissing me first. 


End file.
